


Beneath the Surface

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Demonic Possession, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut, unbetad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3853675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian tells Trevelyan about his plans after Corypheus is defeated but he doesn’t take the news well. Shattered and broken leaves him vulnerable to the nightmares of the Fade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Maxwell Trevelyan wakes up in a cold sweat for the third time in a week. The Skyhold castle walls comes into focus and thankfully the nightmare is over. It’s the same dream over and over again. All he can remember is that dreadful hopeless feeling closing in, sucking the air out of his lungs and leaving him as an empty husk of his former self. Loneliness. Total and utter loneliness. It’s the same sense of dread he felt back in the Fade. Trevelyan peels back the silky sheets to feel the cool breeze running through his master bedroom. The sun is barely up which means he’s late for something or other. No matter, Cullen can easily start the meeting without him.

Cold water splashes on his smooth, lightly freckled skin. Finally, his anxiety subsides and he’s back to normal. Finishing up his morning route, he looks at himself in the mirror for any subtle changes. After all, a mage having recurring nightmares isn’t a good sign. The normal sun-kissed color of his skin and his pale blue eyes shines brightly; no demon possession yet. Trevelyan breathes in deep, swallowing his anxiety down and locked away. Though his appearances look normal in the mirror, the fate of Thedas rests on his shoulders along with the dedicated and brave men and women that serve the Inquisition. Trevelyan can’t dread on the consequences or question whether he’s made the right decisions or not. Self-doubt was a weakness that could be exploited.  

-*-

 

Soul crushing. That’s the two words to describe Trevelyan’s immediate reaction to Dorian’s announcement for leaving the Inquisition after defeating Corypheus. The blond mage from Ostwick stands there slack jawed, struggling to stay something, anything. His first instinct is to plead with him, Trevelyan needs his support. Dorian can't just leave him. _‘Please stay, I need you by my side,’_ Trevelyan silently pleads, wishing Dorian can read his mind because his mouth couldn't dare to utter the words. But guilt is an unfair weapon to use against him. A small, persistent voice whispers, _‘It’s okay, it’s happened before and again it was foolish to think he was different from the rest.’_

“You make monumental decisions affecting the entire world. How can I not consider some of my own?” Dorian sincerely asks. If their relationship meant anything to Trevelyan, then all he could do was to support Dorian in any endeavor he set his mind to. It’s the right thing to do. He knew once he became Inquisitor that sacrifices had to be made.

“If...that’s what you have to do, I understand.”

“There you go, breaking my heart.” _What about mine?_ Dorian was the one that needed reassurance after their first night together. So hopeful that Trevelyan isn’t good a breaking everything because...that would take away his chance to do it to him first! Anger rears its ugly head as Dorian looks at him with sympathetic eyes at the poor abandoned and unwanted Mage of Ostwick. _‘You don’t need his pity,’_ the voice states.    

“This is your fault, remember? You-”

“If you need special arrangements to be made, you can contact our seaport’s captain. He can plot a course to stop in Cumberland. If he gives you any trouble, direct him to me. If you excuse me.” Trevelyan quickly dismisses himself and walks down the winding steps, ignoring the sound of his name echoing throughout the rotunda.

-*-

Trevelyan storms through the heavy wooden door of his private quarters. Tears threatens to spill but he uses every bit of the strength he has to hold them back. _‘I’d go through the Fade a thousand times over than to suffer losing you,’_ he once confessed to Dorian one night, during their la petite mort and Trevelyan meant every word. He lifts his head to see the shattered remains of his bedroom door. Through his pain and anger, he unintentionally slammed the door shut by merely clenching his fist with enough force to split the wood apart. ‘Another gift from the mark?’  Fortunately, an open bottle of Grey Warden whiskey sits on top of his desk, left from the night before.    

Needing some fresh air with the half empty bottle in his left hand, Trevelyan leans against the hard stone railing of his balcony, marveling at the the Frostback Mountains. He can see the narrow path they took when Haven fell; those were bleak times. Fast forward to present day, a finely tailored red hart leather - fashion advice provided by Vivienne - framed his nearly perfect physique. From despair to hope, rising from destruction, impossible tales of heroism and sacrifice spread across Ferelden. He allowed these tales to be written into history. You need to be an inspiration to the people.

He foolishly thought that once the Inquisition claim victory over the dead body of Corypheus; he would share his remaining future with another. Dorian was the first man he’s ever been with. The first one he let in. The first one that turned him into a bumbling oaf when their harmless flirting turned into something more. The first one that pinned him against the stone wall and made him feel alive and wanted as he pathetically reached his climax by experienced hands.

On the balcony, Trevelyan’s eyes drift to the tousled red sheets and fallen books on the floor in disarray. His nights with Dorian were full of passion and aggression for each night might be their last. Their fingers interlocked as Dorian showered him with tender kisses along his elongated neck, nipping at his adam’s apple in the process. It was Trevelyan who encouraged a fast relentless pace, as they both climaxed, desperately clinging to one another. They were free to express who they were to each other. Free from prying eyes and whispers of scandal. Before exhaustion could claim them, Trevelyan professed his love for Dorian.

Trevelyan’s eyes widen at the sudden realization. That’s it! The reason why Dorian is leaving him. It’s too much and too sudden. After all, he didn't return the sentiment. The idea of leaving the Inquisition with no strategy in place nor any outside support in case his life is in danger, sounds absolutely ludicrous. Impulsive isn’t his Dorian. Though his charm and his wit had the same bite as it always has, Trevelyan could sense restraint. 

His light blue eyes grows heavy with exhaustion. The towering posture of the Inquisitor is slumped over. It was still too early to retire for the night but he was fighting to keep his eyes open with each passing minute. He pushes himself off the stone railing, walking towards his room to see a faceless shadow lurking around his master bedroom. His staff is near the desk and he couldn’t muster enough energy to make a dash for it.

 _“It’s okay to feel powerless. It’s your penance for lying to the people of Southern Thedus about being the chosen one. Fortunately, one saw through your lie. Dorian doesn’t love you. The Fate of Thedus rests on your shoulders and all he could think about was getting far far away from you. You should thank him, I’ve seen the future and your story doesn’t have a happy ending.“_  The demon’s voice is assuasive with a blissful melody to each and every said word.

“Spirit or demon, you speak of lies and deceit and I will not give in.” Trevelyan’s defences were breaking down against the aura surrounding him, choking him of his last bit of strength. The dark magic continues to spread, blowing out the candles and spilling over the ledge.     

The dark shadow hovered closer, singing its song of putrid sorrow. Trevelyan attempts to back away but his legs are locked. Loving arms wrapped around Trevelyan’s muscular frame. Instead of fighting the foreign spirit, he embraces it’s comforting presences. What felt like a delicate hand, started stroking his back soothingly. He felt oddly safe as he pulled the dark genderless figure towards him.    

_‘I”ll always be here. I’ll never leave you. Please, let me in. You don’t have to be the Inquisitor, the Chosen One, the Mage from Ostwick Circle or the Herald of Andraste with me. I love you just the way you are. In your darkness hour, I’ll be here for you and won’t ask for anything in return.'_

“There’s nothing you can offer me,” His voice choked up.

 _“It’s more than what they’re offering to you. Dorian didn’t run after you even though he knew you were distressed. Did he? Unsurprising that a Tevinter found his opportunity for glory and unimaginable wealth and would leave once he achieves it.”_    

Hidden hurt and pain rises to the surface, Trevelyan mumbles a few more words, swaying back and forth. When his fingers curled into nothingness, the sudden realization hit the mage like a bolt of lightning. He pushes himself away. Whatever it was, it’s gone in an instant, leaving Trevelyan alone and questioning his sanity.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you so much for the wonderful comments that you guys posted on my first chapter! I couldn’t wait to get started on the second chapter! I have some pretty good stuff coming up in the next few chapters. A couple of action scenes here and little bull-headedness there. It’s been real fun coming up with new ideas for this story. Also I’ll try to produce a screengrab of what my Trevelyan looks like though I’m a perfectionist, so hopefully I can post one up with Chapter 3. Again, this is unbeta'd so I apologize for the grammar/spelling mistakes.

That didn’t go as planned. Dorian shouts his name, chasing after him down the spiral stairs. By the time he reaches the bottom, the door is already closed shut. Sensing he’s done enough damage for the day, Dorian leaves him be. That devastating expression replays in his mind over and over again...what was he thinking? Wrong delivery! Wrong timing! He was so caught up with the recent discovery back at Temple of Mythal, he wanted to think about his own future. His amatus inspired him to be a better man but what does he do to repay him? He tells the one thing good in his life that he wants to return home without him. It was so ludicrous that it should be written in a book. Panic grips him by the throat when his mind races through the possible scenarios where he could’ve done things differently.  After a moment of beating himself up, he notices that Solas is staring at him at his desk.

“Mind your own business, elf,” Dorian turns around and heads back to his study.

There needs to be a plan. He can fix this; it’s not too late. But one more misstep, he’ll find himself being shipped back to Tevinter in a wooden crate with no air holes or worse, losing the one true thing that means everything to him. He takes a few deep breaths...he needs advice before moving forward. Before letting his thick head do anymore thinking; he needs perspective. Where better to find it than Herald's Rest with a bunch of drunks and Tevinter-hating mercenaries?

 

* * *

2 months ago

\- Ferventis -

“You’re such a peculiar mage. You know that right?” Dorian declares, lazily draped over a plush end chair with one leg over an armrest. The Tevinter mage happened to be passing by the guest room when he heard a distressed sounding voice belonging to Lord Trevelyan. Undoubtedly, Vivienne already projected her highly selective appearance standards onto him. If he only had the opportunity to live out his nobility, he wouldn’t fidget so much while getting his seams taken in. The Inquisitor was in desperate need for company and who better to provide it than his charming self.

“Oh?”

“I don’t know many mages from the coast and you’re not a southerner. If you were Antivan or from Orlais, I would better understand you.” Dorian scans the impressive end table’s display of treats and assortment snacks. His eyes catch the crystal bowl of almonds covered in saffron; a favorite during his younger years.  

“To be honest, I don’t know what a free marcher is like either. I spent most of my life in a tower at Ostwick.” The female elf seamstress tending to his half finished garment works her delicate fingers along his arm sleeve.    

“Ah, yes. I forgot the preferential treatment you get for possessing such gifts.” It just so happens that Trevelyan turns around to glance at him when Dorian plants an almond between his lips, letting his tongue draw in the nut into his mouth. He quickly averted his eyes, hoping Dorian is far away enough to not see the flush of color that painted his cheeks. He’s heard rumors of the sensual mage shortly after he joined the Inquisition. He paid no attention to such gossip but his ears picked up a few sinful details that sent shivers down his spine.   

“No other mage knows any better, unless you’re an Apostate. I take it you had the opposite experience at your Circle.”

“In certain aspects, yes but I couldn’t stand the uniform structure the Grand Enchanter instated at the Circle. I started defacing my robes in silent protest.”  

“You would’ve hated me back then. Overachiever, high marks, and quick advancement. I was every enchanter’s dream apprentice.”

“And breaker of all ladies hearts?”

Trevelyan focus on the gold trimmings of his left arm cluff. Another part of his life that hopefully won’t find its place in the history books.  

“Not quite.”

Dorian grins; he’s found the Inquisitor's weakness. “Oh this is too good to pass up. Are you telling me you never, while at the Circle, had a…”

“I was too busy to socialize.” The reason came out too fast and of course, Dorian didn’t buy it. Before he can delve a little deeper into Trevelyan’s past, the seamstress yelped at the hand cramp that started to form. The Inquisitor, with a gentle touch, examines her injuries.

“Your hands.”  

“I’m almost done,” she insists, pulling her hands away from his large grasp.    

“It’s not nothing. You’re in pain. I order you to take the rest of the day off and seek out treatment.” He continues to hold the girl’s hands in his own, attempting to convey his empathy through touch. The elf appears to be frighten of either him or the repercussions for not getting the job done, Dorian couldn’t tell. Finally, he releases her. She quickly bows down and makes her exit.  

“You got that girl in trouble. You did more harm than good.”

“I’ll ensure that she won’t get punished.”

“It doesn’t matter. She’ll be an outcast for not completing her task. It'll be her  fault for jeopardizing her health in the first place. Either way, she can’t win.”

“I won’t have a member of Skyhold’s staff have her hands bleed whiling doing some meager chor that holds no importance,” Trevelyan shortly response. Dorian sighs, feeling the usual guilt whenever a shameful sin done by his people is brought up in casual conversation. He’s tired of defending his relative’s actions; he’s not like them.   

“You remember I told you that my family had slaves when I was growing up?”

“Yes.” Trevelyan steps down from the circular platform and walks towards him; invested in what Dorian is about to reveal.  

“There were times, when our house staff would work them so hard that they would collapse due to exhaustion. I would try to make excuses or buy them time to recover their strength but I knew, it was futile. Sometimes that would the last time I see them.” Trevelyan bends down to be at eye level with him but Dorian avoids eye contact.

“But change needs to start now. Don’t let an older generation dictate our future. It doesn’t belong to them.” His fair hand lightly falls on Dorian’s shoulder. The tension that filled the room, is now gone. No harsh judgement or preconceived notions that’s been following him since leaving Tevinter.   

An odd sensation shoots through Dorian’s body. The impulse to lean in and kiss those receptive lips is damn near staggering. He has to dig his nails into the palms of his hands to prevent him from doing something so rash. Don’t fall for the unattainable. It’s a rule in Dorian’s mental manifesto but of course, only he would break his number one rule. Fortunately, the tension is broken by another elf storming into the room.

“Forgive us for the delay, my Lordship. I’ll be replacing Nindë for the rest the afternoon.”

Dorian leaves the Inquisitor but his kind words will lay heavily on his chest for days to come.

 

* * *

 - Present - 

Herald's Rest was more crowded than expected for the advice seeking mage. The Chargers brought along a few friends after stopping a Venatori Fire Ship off from burning Denerim down to the ground. Iron Bull is surrounded with wine chugging hooligans singing songs of past victories. The Qunari’s carefully trained eye spots an old tavern regular among the a sea of drunken men and women.  

“Hey Vint! Come join us!” When Dorian turns him down for free drinks, it could only mean there’s something very wrong with the Vint.

“Excuse me, lowlifes. I’ve got business elsewhere.”

Dorian takes his usual seat near the fireplace with plenty of room to fit one very large Qunari right next to him.

“Vint, I haven’t seen you in these parts in a while. It was hoping you’d keep it that way and i don’t mean that I loathe your company but let’s just say you drink a lot for your body weight.” When Dorian fails to produce his usual rebuttal quip, Bull could only assume it’s more serious than he thought.

“What happened?”

“What I saw at Temple of Mythal, changed me. You remember what Abelas said about the elves. How could I not return back to Tevinter?!”  

“I remember, yes.”

“I told Trevelyan once we defeat Corypheus, I want to return to Tevinter. He said he understood and quickly left.”

“Vashedan! Are kidding me?!” The qunari voice boomed across the tavern.

“You can’t make a decision like that lightly. You’re wanting to go back to enemy territory after defeating their hero Magister! It’s a suicide mission and you wanted his blessing?!”

“I’m not saying what I did was right! I want to fix this!” In his peripheral vision, Dorian could see the patrons looking towards their direction. He indicates to Bull to keep his voice down.

“But the Boss is vulnerable. He needs our support outside the battlefield. Knowing that you’ll be leaving after the mission is over, implies you’re here for personal glory. I’m not saying that’s your intention but I can see how the Boss might draw up that conclusion.”

Dorian drops his head into his hands.

“So, what’s the good news?”  

“You got good intentions, Vint. Let him cool down for a while and if he doesn’t approach you first, I suggest writing to him. It’ll allow him to respond when he’s ready. Confrontation isn’t the best course of action right now.”    

“Alright,” Bull plants his hand on his shoulder. If his ancestors could see him now; an Altus seeking advice from a Qunari. When the moment went on longer than expected, Dorian leans in, resting his head against Bull’s briefly before pulling apart. Little did he know that Trevelyan entered the tavern a few moments ago and happen to catch his seemingly close moment with the Qunari.

 _Didn’t take him long to find companionship._ Trevelyan heads for exit; he’s seen enough. It’s a mistake coming here. Did their relationship mean anything to Dorian? A month is short, relatively speaking but he couldn’t ignore the deep and meaningful connection they shared together. Trevelyan bend his head down, clearing his face of anguish so other people couldn’t see. The feelings of pain and betrayal are so intense, his mark releases a surge of magic that cracked against the crisp mid-night air.

“Carefully guarded and always protected but now shattered. Never again. ”

“I don’t need help, Cole. I’m fine.” Cole, Skyhold’s local spirit who frequently wonders the courtyard grounds, sits on a ledge, as if he’s been waiting for Trevelyan to step out of the tavern.

“I must stop the pain.” Trevelyan considers for a moment. Cole can hear the inner voices of each and every mind in Skyhold. The opportunity to peek into Dorian’s mind is tempting but intrusive and it isn’t worth breaking Dorian’s trust for the sake of closure.

“But you can’t stop all. I have to go through this myself.”

“Pain surrounds me but they find peace in the veil’s embrace. Your pain is loud. Hurting me in return. Draining. Voices won’t stop. There’s two but same voice.” Two voices but both the same? Could it be that he’s possessed by a demon? It’s the only explanation but he’s surrounded by mages and none have come forth sensing a demonic presences in Skyhold. Trevelyan heads towards throne room with renewed determination. If anyone knew more about demonic possession than any other mage in Skyhold, it’s Solas.

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at fic with the Dragon Age fandom. Short first chapter, but others will be longer! Don’t mind my generic Trevelyan but I fell for him once I created him in my second playthrough. I’m always open to story suggestions and if you think . A lot of what Trevelyan is going through reflects my own personal experiences with anxiety. I'm not sure if I'm doing this right but I know there's a lot of grammar errors and other stuff that a beta would catch but I'm pressed for time and I desperately wanted to publish this. Let me know what you think!


End file.
